


Hold Me Closer, Tom the Dancer

by ameh



Category: Blink-182
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:46:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameh/pseuds/ameh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a productive day of doing nothing respectable, Mark and Tom find themselves discussing all the great mysteries of the universe.  Naturally, the greatest and most pressing of these is whether or not one can suck off a vacuum cleaner hose while the vacuum is on and how this may affect humanity as a whole.  They decide to find out and end up ripping a hole in time and space, allowing Tom to leave his body and travel the interdimensional rift into the past.  Suddenly, he’s reliving his former life.. as a ballerina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Dedicated to [Syaz](http://ifuckingloveblink.tumblr.com), sorry it took me like a year :(  
> **If the title of this doesn't make you laugh your ass off, then you need to [click here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hoskDZRLOCs) so you can get the badass, hilarious joke I made. It's 100% worth it, and I am awesome.

          I don't know what happened. I don't know what this weird feeling is. I don't know why I'm watching my bestfriend kneel over my body trying to wake me up. I don't know why I'm here while my own damn body is down there.   
          And I especially don't know why I ever thought wearing that t-shirt was a good idea; I look like a douchebag that has an inflatable anime girlfriend doll at home.

          Mental note: Leave that shirt on Mark's floor. Laugh every time he wears it.   
          Mental note #2: Get Mark to moon people more often because holy shit, he has a nice butt.

          Anyway, as I was saying before "Baby Got Back" incarnate distracted me, I don't know what the fuck happened or why I'm somehow not in my body anymore. I suspect magic, but I don't think I've pissed off any witches lately. Maybe a wizard -- it's always easy to piss off wizards. They're touchy, you know? Come to think of it, there was this one guy at the gas station the other day with a gnarly beard situation going on... I pegged him for more of the 'frogs and snakes' type, though...   
          Shit, my mind is all fuzzy and weird right now. Oh, right, um... I don't recall anything out of the ordinary going on today. It was really just a regular day -- I fought off hundreds of girls that threw themselves at me everywhere I went because I'm so devilishly irresistible, I brought peace to a couple of nations, and then I befriended three centaurs in the woods -- same as any other day in the life of Tom Delonge, Master Bater and super funny and handsome guy.   
          That's what happened, I'm totally serious. Really. Believe me.

          In the lame version of that story, I woke up a bit after noon on Mark's ugly, busted-ass, faded blue couch that's too small for any normal human being with a wicked crick in my neck and painfully obvious morning wood. Mark had gone to bed after I passed out or something, thankfully, so I was able to make it to the shower and get everything taken care of without any awkward boner explanations. Ever since that one time I said his name in my sleep, Mark's been giving me shit about being fully fucking inlove with him every time I wake up with a raging hard-on.   
          Har har har, real funny, Hoppus, I totally wanna stick my dick in your chin.

          Oh fuck, that's a good one! Remember that one, self.

          Mark still wasn't up when I got out of the shower, lazy ass, so I went to grab some cheap burgers for afternoon breakfast and brought 'em back to his place. I figured he'd be up by the time I got back, since sleep has never really been easy for him, but the motherfucker still wasn't out of bed. Those burgers taste super shitty if they get cold -- Mark always bitches about it because no microwave can save them -- so I went to wake him up with the bag of food in my hand as a bribery tool. My hand was almost on the doorknob; I was just about to turn it and walk in, then I heard something through the door. I stopped, got really quiet, listened, and... hahaha, yep, he was jackin' it! No shit, though, a part of me wanted to stand there and listen because okay yeah, it was kind of hot, fuck off, but that's totally weird and not cool at all, so I decided to let him finish in peace. However, as I was turning to walk away, I heard him moan what I'm 90% sure was my name. Uh...   
          At this point, it seemed like a better idea to walk through the front door again a little less quietly and announce my arrival and possession of burgers -- you know, to avoid the huge awkward shitstorm that could potentially occur.

          ...Fine, so maybe one weird thing happened today, but I don't think Mark's gay crush on me that probably doesn't even exist because I mishear things all the time is enough to make me leave my body, dammit. Stop forgetting what we're doing here!

          A few minutes after I oh-so-gracefully (and loudly because fuck off, I didn't spend $5 on burgers for that jackass to waste them) announced my arrival, Sleeping Beauty came waltzing out of his room with his dumb purple hair all frantic and his stupid face all flustered and smiley and... stupid. He was like ultra-smiley, though, and that shit is contagious, goddammit, 'cause it means he's happy so then I get happy and-   
          FUCK! I'm smiling now because of his stupid fucking lame ugly face; fuck him. That shit is too infectious. It's like a virus. He's a fucking diseased dickbag.   
          Yeah, anyway, we ate our burgers and bullshitted around like normal, then I had to search through the limp dirt-blue couch for the pipe it always manages to eat. I finally got my hands on it, and we were happily Chinese men three bowls later.

          ...What? We got stoned, yeah -- why else would those cheap-ass burgers seem like a good idea? -- but it's the same weed we had yesterday. Nothing like this happened yesterday, so I'm pretty sure I can rule out blaming the pot for this one. Besides, it wasn't some fancy-ass exotic-named bullshit; it's just regular weed. Same ole, same ole.

          One thing everyone needs to know about Mark Hoppus, by the way, is that he is one smooth-talking, sneaky fuck. Somehow, he used his great powers of perfect timing and waited until my guard was down, then he talked me into playing video games with him. This was an unfair move.   
          Another thing you need to know about Mark fucking Hoppus is that he's too goddamned good at video games, and he knows it. Everyone knows it. He makes sure of it by tricking them into playing against him.   
          Oh, he also talks shit while playing. Just to really drive the point home that he's better, you know? He's a smug bug in a rug about it, and it's probably illegal in like 22 states or something. The fact that he's absolutely hilarious at talking shit doesn't make losing suck any less; in the end, your ego is still crushed, topped off by your cheeks aching from laughing while he stomped your self-respect into the ground.

          Today, though... ohh, today was different. I could say it was the magic wizard curse thing; I could say God decided to spit on Mark today; I could say I just got lucky -- but let's be honest, do any of those sound even slightly badass? Fuck no.   
          No sir; today, I grabbed Mark by the proverbial balls and made him my bitch.   
          Maybe that's what ripped me out of my body. Maybe I was just too awesome to be contained in some human shaped meat sack covered in skin. Maybe I evolved.   
          You know what? I would be totally okay with that, because suck my dick, Hoppus, I won.

          Since I don't think that's at all the case here, I'll continue. It was my chance to talk shit, and I fucking took it.   
          "Ohhh, what's that, Hoppus? I can't hear you with that dick in your mouth because YOU CAN'T STOP SUCKING."

          We smoked another bowl after that, so Mark could pout about his humiliating loss at my hand. Haha, sucker! As you may or may not know, times like these are when the most intellectual conversations take place. This was no exception. Somehow, we started wondering whether or not it's possible to suck off a vacuum cleaner while it's turned on.   
          Actually, that subject probably came about because of how much Mark sucks. More than likely, atleast. Let's just say that's what happened. It sounds cooler that way.   
          The old man of little faith was absolutely sure it was impossible to do it. He said the vacuum cleaner would overpower the person, and their lips would be sucked into it. I, on the other hand, hold strong in my belief that it's totally possible, because we must overpower the machines. We can't let them beat us! WE MUST RETAIN CONTROL FOR THE GOOD OF THE HUMAN RACE.

          ...Ahem.

          So Mark went to get his vacuum cleaner in order to solve this great issue. I didn't even know he had a vacuum. He said his mom gave it to him so we could vacuum out the old tour van when we got back from tour, because she said that would help keep the smells from lingering. Boy, that woman was wrong.   
          This might've been a bad idea. It's a possibility. Where would the world be without bad ideas, though? Besides, I needed to prove to Mark that we humans are the greater force in the world.   
          Minutes later, the shop vac was sitting infront of me, Mark halfway out of breath from carrying it into the living room. I lost the coin toss, so I had to be the one to suck this thing off. Ugh. There was dust all over the hose. Obviously this beast saw TONS of action. I dusted it off and brought the hose to my lips, my eyes on Mark as I readied myself to give him the thumbs up to turn it on.

          Time to suck, Tom. Suck like you've never sucked before, including that time with that hooker that liked to bark during sex and may or may not have had a tiny dick and/or an overly large clitoris.   
          Let's not talk about that.

          So I did -- you bet your sweet ass I did -- and I shot my thumb up so Mark could hit the switch. As the machine roared to life, thoughts flashed through my head with adrenaline rocket fuel. What if my lips got sucked off? How would I ever speak? How would I ever make love to the aliens when they arrive? What fucked up nickname would I have to get used to Mark calling me? Everything blinked into my mind at once, but I kept sucking even through the immense pull on my face.   
          Fuck the machines. They will never win! They may rebel, they may destroy our economic system, they may declare war on life as we know it, but they will never overpower us. They will fucking fall! They'll be wiped out with a force as great as the stupidly bright light that flashed before my eyes in that moment, which I can only assume was rage blindness. That exists, right?

          That's how I ended up here, all floaty and not in my body and ninja-staring Mark down because he's pretty and no one can see me checkin' him out. Move over, Stay Puft dude -- InvisiTom is in the house! The weirdest part of all this, though, is I think I have to pee, but I don't have a body. How the fuck am I supposed to make sense of THAT one? Way to plan ahead, magic wizard beard fuck.   
          Between where the vacuum hose landed and my body ended up, there's some sort of weird hole filled with TV static forming. It's like someone was erasing too hard and tore a hole in the paper of... the world, I guess? That shit looks gnarly! How did they get TV static in there, like fucking white noise going on and shit? Wait, who would 'they' be, anyway? White noise static death sound shit on TV is said to be radiation left over from the big bang, so what could this stuff be from? Maybe this stuff is a new big bang! Oh fuck, does this mean I created a new universe where I'll be considered God? "I am your high radical God guy, bring me burrito pizzas!" Dude, what if my universe doesn't even have pizza? Or burritos?! This is fucked up.

          Looks like I'm going to find out for myself -- the universe static hole is pulling me towards it, and I don't have a body to resist it with. I'm a floating fucking smoke being, and that means I can't do a damn thing to stop this interdimensional swirly I'm about to get. Fuck everything. Fuck the world. Fuck me!   
          Into the thing I go, watching the yellow sparky things in the black vortex race by me as I go deeper into the possible death tunnel. It feels like life is rewinding, or the world is rewinding or something. Shit, I'm basically a human VHS right now!

          I bet the machines couldn't pull something like this off, so just take that, Mark. I WIN. Bitch.


	2. Chapter 2

          What happens when you rewind a VHS all the way to the beginning of the film, and then keep going?

          I feel like that's what just happened to me, except... I don't know, somehow there was more film or something. It feels like time passed since I was sucked into the static universe death hole, but not the way time normally passes. Fuck, this is definitely some other dimension, so why the fuck would time be the same thing here, anyway? Step up your game, Delonge, you know better.  
          My mind feels so strange, though, like... ugh. It feels crowded, claustrophobic, something like that. Cluttered. Oh, you know what it's like?! It's like riding in the backseat of your parents' cramped two-door car with your brother and sister back there with you and luggage at your feet, in your lap, and everywhere else! That was stupid -- why did my parents ever think that shit counted as "vacation" for us? Whatever. Something about this feels exactly like that, like... like I'm in the backseat... of my brain?  
          Yeah, right. What am I even talking about?

          My eyes finally allow in light, and I'm starting to feel aware that there's something beyond me. Cool. I can feel that I have skin. Rad. What is this I'm starting to focus on, though? Oh, this cannot be right...

          Staring back in the mirror are big, honey-brown eyes with full eyelashes (and mascara to boot) and no trace of confusion. Those are not mine. Lightly tanned skin, red lipstick, a much too heavy amount of hair pinned up and so dark that it's almost black, eyebrows -- this is definitely not me. What the fuck is going on- Who is this person- Why can't I control any part of this body- What the fuck happened to me?!  
          I watch a pair of small hands come up and work quickly to tie a white cloth with small white flowers and feathers on it around her hairline. I try to control her fingers, her hands, her arms -- anything -- but it's no use. That's why I feel like I'm in the backseat of a car, dammit. I'm nothing but a passenger here. Oh man, why the hell is she wearing this?  
          She looks down to check her dress and- oh my god, am I going to see her boobs? Wait, they're kind of like my boobs right now sort of... oh my fucking god, dude, I have tits! I don't think she's aware of me in her head, because I'm sure she would've reacted to that if she knew. I'm aware of her thoughts, though, like... no, maybe I'm more aware of her feelings. I don't know, I don't really have this all figured out, yet.  
          Stepping back from the mirror to get a better view of her outfit, I can see the full extent of my Hotel de Female finally. She's pretty short, 5'4" or 5'5" maybe, a little bit tanned, and just overall tiny. Her legs are slightly muscular and totally free of scars -- nothing like the countless skateboarding scars I'm used to seeing. The top half of her dress hugs close to her skin, with white feathers around the sleeveless arms and matching white flowers sewn down the front to where it meets the... skirt, I guess? The skirt has way too many layers inside of it so that it stands out away from her body. Most of those layers have lacey frilly shit at the bottom, ugh. The outside part of it has some kind of white mesh around it with random sparkles in it, and the area where it meets her waist is draped in layers of bigger white feathers and covered in white flowers. She checks to be sure she sewed them on well enough. These are the most complicated clothes I've ever fucking seen, I swear to God.  
          Oh... I just now noticed her shoes. They're ballet slippers with ribbons laced up her leg a bit. Ofcourse, they're white, too -- big surprise there. Jesus, these shoes aren't even comfortable.

          I can feel her smile to herself when she's finished adjusting everything. She's satisfied, anxious, proud, and there's this feeling of accomplishment, like... like it took a lot of work to get here, I guess, and somehow, I understand it. The memories are there -- the years of training, dancing, practice, the hours spent on the train heading west, the patience, discipline, work that went into all of it -- but it's like I have to strain my eyes to see them, and that shit hurts.  
          She's not nervous, even as the stage comes into view. Why the fuck isn't she nervous? If I had my skin, I would be crawling out of it with stage fright right now. Hell, I'm almost crawling out of hers! Yet here she is, all calm and collected like a fucking camel or some other I-don't-give-a-shit animal.

          I'm starting to think this girl could actually kick my ass.

          There's a piano on the opposite side of the stage, and I feel her start getting fidgety as she watches a man sit down at it in preparation. She fidgets a bit more, fixing random parts of this super white outfit and feeling that her hair is right, but that stops as she notices the curtains pulling back. Motherfuck me, she went right back into camel mode like it was nothing! How?! Her eyes stay fixed on the piano illuminated on the stage, and I feel her waiting for the first notes to escape from it so she can make her appearance from the shadows of the drawn curtains.  
          Deep breath, inhale exhale, and- oh, lookit that, we're already on stage. She's ontop of shit. I hear the music filling the auditorium, piano echoing from every corner, and she... well, it's a good thing I have no control over any of this body, because it would certainly not be doing the things it's doing. She stays constantly in motion, moving with every note of the song, using muscles I didn't even know existed and my body probably doesn't even

          Yeah, she could totally kick my ass. Fuck.

          She's graceful in every movement she makes, and I'm diggin' it because I've never felt graceful before. I'm the opposite of graceful. I feel like a fucking swan right now, no shit. She hums along with the song as she dances; she feels right at home.  
          This is so strangely awesome, I can't even... I'm a fucking ballet dancer, man! I'm a goddamn ballerina, and I'm kicking ass at it.

          ...No. No, now it's uncomfortable, and it's not because of me. She keeps dancing, but she feels... distracted, maybe? Anxious? She feels like someone's watching her.  
          WELL OFCOURSE SOMEONE IS WATCHING YOU, WOMAN -- THERE'S A BUTTLOAD OF PEOPLE SITTING OUT THERE WATCHING EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE AND YOU KNOW THAT! YOU DON'T EVEN MAKE SENSE.  
          Only she does make sense, because I'm in her head and I get it, dammit. Feeling watched isn't normal for her; she's danced infront of people countless times and never felt this kind of nervousness. This is like someone shooting laser static beams at her, using a taser with their eyes or something, but in a good sort of way. She looks out and locks eyes with Electric Eye Man, and-

          Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. I would know those eyes anywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

          The rest of her performance happens as a blur; I can't tell if she feels that way or if it's just me. At this point, all I know is her eyes are staring into blue ones I know all too well, and I'm too tied up in knots to process anything else. The curtains close, she goes back to her dressing room to change, and I'm left reeling.   
          Does he realize he's here? Is he a backseat mental audience like I am right now? How would either of us even make that known? What the fuck is going on? What was that electricity happening out there? What is this magnetic sort of draw I- she- WE feel right now? Seriously, none of this is making any sense to me, fuck this.   
          The reappearance of those eyes snaps me out of my thoughts. There he is, waiting patiently outside the dressing room for her with a white flower in his hand. WHITE, ugh. Dressed in a pale button-up shirt tucked into blue jeans with a belt and boots on, he looks nothing like Mark, while seeming very much like him with his eyes and the happy sort of aura about his face.   
          "Henry," he says as he holds out the flower, and I can feel the butterflies in her stomach doing flips.   
          "Lillian," she responds as she accepts his offer, twirling it in her fingers.   
          This is a complete mindfuck. He smiles just as she smiles, and that's it. That's just... it. She knows. She feels complete, and I can't help but feel it, too. I don't know what the fuck this means at all.

          There's a flash, and everything fast-forwards. Just as suddenly as the first time, I find myself somewhere else entirely. Can I get whiplash from this shit? I bet I can. Fuck other dimensions.   
          Small feet in light pale shoes walk casually along the city's main boulevard, taking in the chatter of people around and holding the hand of another person. I feel short again. Henry squeezes Lillian's hand, and I feel the rush of affection she has for him. Goddammit, why can I feel that shit, too? It's making me sad almost, and I don't know why.   
          A few steps ahead, a man holds out a small wooden cross he carved, one of several more he has in a bag within reach. Henry hesitates, almost taking a step back. Lillian's hand pulls from his to take the cross, and her fingers run over it as she listens to the man tell her about religion. She says nothing, simply listens and smiles, says thank you, and continues on her way. I feel Henry watching from beside her as she continues to fidget with the wooden item, her thoughts bouncing around everywhere. A moment later, she smiles up at him.   
          "See, maybe people aren't so bad."

          Another flash. Really, just like that? More whiplash, dude. Watch. I'm gonna break this entire dimension for this shit.   
          I settle into her body again and look around, taking in the sight of Henry sitting beside her on a bench outside what I assume is his house. He has a knife in one hand, a piece of wood in the other, and he's carving something -- wittling.   
          Haha, if Mark ever tried to wittle, I'm pretty sure he would cut no less than three fingers off, not all necessarily his, either. What a dink. Why do I feel like I miss him?   
          Lillian is restless; I can feel it in her legs. She calmly gets up and walks out to the yard without saying anything. Her bare feet glide over the grass and dirt smoothly, her body moving gracefully as she starts dancing. Why is she doing this? I feel nervous, Henry's watching. Wait, should I even care about that? I shouldn't. I don't. What is he even doing right now? Is he going to come dance with her? She starts humming, and out of the corner of her eye, I can see him smiling and glancing up from his little wittling project he's got going on. Fuck, every single time I see those eyes, it gives me chills. Only I don't have a body to actually get chills with. Can I get chills in someone else's body? These are life's tough questions.   
          "I made something for you," Henry calls out, and Lillian is back at his side before I can even catch up to what's going on here. Shit, this girl is quick.   
          "What is it?"   
          He holds up a tiny carving of a ballerina. It's not painted, it's not perfect, but he sets it in her hand with that huge goofy Mark smile on his face. She looks up at him and grins, putting the wooden dancer back into his palm.   
          "Keep it. That way, you'll always have me with you."   
          Something about that idea feels strangely comforting, and I feel like I miss that dillweed even more, ew.

          The warp flash things have gotten fainter, I guess, because I hardly noticed the one that brought me here, standing before a small crowd of people with Henry directly infront of me and Lillian's hands resting in his. His face is Mark's stupid face; I can't get over it. Those eyes, that smile, his aura, everything -- he's Mark in a different body. That's the only way I can explain it. Every bit of emotion Lillian feels right now when she looks at this man, it rips through me, and it's oddly nostalgic.   
          Hold on, wait, what's going on here? When Lillian looks down, I notice that she's in a white dress -- a different white dress than she wore the first time -- and there's a guy with a bible beside us saying something or other. OH SHIT, THIS IS A WEDDING. THIS IS THEIR WEDDING. OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK. HIS FACE IS GETTING CLOSER-   
          Let me just say, every kiss I've ever had was nothing in comparison to this. This felt like one of those Disney fairytale Prince Charming things with clouds and rainbows underneath their feet. Like, it was fucking magical, and I could feel it all throughout my being. It was like putting that last puzzle piece into place and having everything fit perfectly with some glitter and shooting stars in the background, I don't know. Aren't these supposed to be her feelings? Why the hell am I feeling them? I want my money back.

          Remember what I said about the flashes not being as strong anymore? I spoke too soon.   
          My eyes open to see a kid in Lillian's arms, a small baby girl, and I can feel Henry beside me gazing down at her, aswell. He kisses her forehead and whispers that he loves her.

          FLASH -- the kids are outside playing, all three of them now, and I can feel Lillian smile as she watches through the window. Henry sneaks up behind her and scares her half to death before running away laughing, leaving her to chase after him. Well, that seems familiar.

          More white light. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna sue the maker of this dimension warp thing.   
          The kids are grown up, out of the house, and I can feel Lillian's body ache with age. She's sad -- unbelievably fucking sad. She spoons a bit of soup into a bowl and puts it on a tray, carrying it carefully to the bedroom where Henry is resting. He doesn't look good at all, oh shit, but his face brightens as much as it can when he sees her enter the room. I can almost feel my heart breaking along with hers. It's like watching Mark in this condition. I don't fucking like it.   
          She sits down beside the bed, sadness coursing through her as she sees Henry try to pull himself up and fail. Her mind is racing while being totally blank, which is something that should be fucking impossible because it doesn't make any goddamn sense. The thought of not having this man in her life anymore is something she can't handle, but she notices everyday that he gets worse and worse, so he can't have much time left. She tries to smile as she holds the spoonful of soup to his lips, hoping that her smile will hide how much this is killing her, but I know it's not working. I know Mark, and I know he can always see right through some fake happiness, so I'm sure Henry can, too. Lillian knows it just as much as I do. Fuck, this is breaking m-

          I snap back into static.

          "Tom! Thomas Matthew I-Fuck-Pigs Delonge! If you don't wake up right now, I'm going to piss all over your stupid face."   
          I KNOW THAT FUCKING VOICE, HE BETTER NOT PISS ON ME. I'm warping through this time dimension space fuck-all vortex as fast as I can!   
          "Okay, Tom, I'm unzipping my pants, it's about to happen..."   
          NO, FUCK YOU, I'M GOING TO PUNCH YOU IN THE DICK. Why can't I go any faste-I CAN ALMOST SEE HIM.   
          "Open uuuupp..."   
          Just like that, as suddenly as the death static happened, it's gone. My eyes snap open to see Mark standing directly over me, hand on his zipper. I'm pretty sure the looks on both of our faces right now could knock over an elephant.   
          "Oh my god, dude, you've been out cold for like five minutes, what the fuck?! I thought you were like brain dead or something!"   
          "Mmmdjksg," was not what I wanted to say, but I guess I'm just not used to like... you know, controlling a body again. Either way, fuckhead seems concerned, so he kneels down over me to prevent me from trying to get up.   
          "Are you okay, man?"   
          My eyes meet his. They lock. There's no doubt about it -- Mark was Henry, Henry was Mark. Every single feeling that Lillian felt when she saw Henry, I'm feeling right now staring at Mark's stupid face. Dude, I think I just went on some weird ass past life regression quest journey thing. That had to be what happpened. How else could you explain it? What, are these "residual feelings" or some shit? No, fuck that. These aren't residual or misplaced or anything -- these are the exact same feelings felt by the exact same people, just in different bodies and times and whatever. Yo, I just figured out that I used to be a girl -- what a busy fucking day!   
          "Hey, Mark?" Oh lookit that, I can speak.   
          "Yeah? Are you okay?"   
          "Come here."   
          "What?"   
          "I said come here, you fucking cocksmuggler." Mark leans down a couple inches.   
          "Closer."   
          He hesitates, but finally moves about three inches away from my face. I can work with three inches. I lean up and plant my lips on his with no warning, my hand shooting up to the back of his neck to assure him it's okay so he doesn't pull back in shock. Thankfully, he doesn't; he actually kisses me back after a couple seconds. Electricity shoots through every single nerve-ending in my body, all new and exciting, yet strangely familiar. Mark relaxes, and I can feel this sense of "finally" coming from him.   
          Yep, this is exactly what I thought -- this isn't the first time we've kissed. This lifetime, sure, but this isn't our first go around together.

          Looks like we're a couple of stupid looking soulmates. Not bad for a Tuesday afternoon.


End file.
